Memory

21 Sep

My sweet older sister hated me when I was born. She covered my face in lipstick, when she had the chance, and referred to me as “it.” As in, it’s crying. Make it stop.

When I was 3 and she was 7, she told me I had ruined her life. Before I was born, she got pancakes for breakfast every day and had a puppy. We were eating cold cereal. We did not have a puppy.

But still, I fucking adored her. She was my mirror and I was heartbroken when I realized I didn’t look exactly like her. I protected her from our mean neighbor Sena and la la loved her up to the moon.

And at her wedding, I wept like a widow. I cried because my own heart is broken, and because her heart is complete now, and that brings me great joy. She didn’t trust me to give a speech (she also doesn’t trust me to use soap when I wash dishes and or to wear underwear, ever) and who could blame her? If I had been given a microphone, though, I would have said this: I love you, and I could not have dreamed you better. And yes, I do use soap, you treacherous bitch.

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